Blood: The 61st Hunger Games
by kindnessandbravery
Summary: "The red liquid poured out, as your killer looked on, with a menacing smile."
1. Remaining Wounds Never Heal

_"But blood never lies, does it?_

_Blood carries so many secrets_

_One can only hear it's murmurs in our arteries_

_it's incessant monologue, in the quiet_

_night's bed before sleep. Blood says_

_You are More, and sometimes, You are Less."_

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><p><strong>Ayra Colian, District Nine<strong>

**Victor of The 55th Hunger Games**

* * *

><p>Nobody told her that the Games were the final blow to your normal life.<p>

Nobody told her about the pain.

Nobody told her about the nightmares that she saw when she closed her eyes.

Maybe that's because Victors are said to be 'strong'. They're said to be the district's best products, the ones that defy death and survive. They are the warriors of the Districts, they are the people that the simple district people 'should aspire to be'.

No one thinks of them as the broken, when they actually are. They're the ones that managed to draw the unlucky straws; they didn't die in the Games, they managed to survive and get to live each day remembering the horrors that occurred. The people that had terrorised them and the people... the people that had stuck with them the whole way through, only to be killed. The ones that they had trusted and loved because they were the only company they had to keep themselves together.

_Those tributes are permanently engraved into the brain. _

Alcohol had made it easier. Ayra Colian knew that it wasn't a good life decision to drink away her problems, but she didn't care. All she wanted was to get rid of the fucking memories that plagued her for the whole fucking day. Numbness overtook her, but it was better then to feel.

Anything was better then to feel her heart ripping into pieces after one more flashback of her comrade dying with the finish line in sight.

_Dying, when she got to live._

Just as the bartender was about to hand one more malt whiskey to the young and naive Victor, a hand reached put and took the drink just to throw it down the drain. Ayra turned with the intention of punching someone but stopped when she saw who the taker of the drink was.

Aspen Cedara-Tomber, male mentor for District Seven and heartthrob of Panem. He was married, as far as Ayra knew, to another Victor from his district. It must have caused a few heartbreaks when the marriage had occurred.

"You don't want to become dependent on this," Aspen said as he eyed the liquid as if he had previous experience with it. Maybe it was all in Ayra's head but she was certain Aspen was talking from previous experiences.

"Why do you care? Go back to your perfect life with your perfect wife." Ayra spat bitterly as Aspen just scoffed, as if Ayra was acting like a child. She wasn't, she was being perfectly honest. No one gave a fuck about her if she showed up to every appearance and put a damn smile on her face. As long as she appeared to be in the prime of her life, everyone talked about her with pride and for the last few years, she was a hero to the district people.

"Jesus Christ, you think that no one cares about you? We all do, even if you haven't bothered to learn our names. We care about you because District Nine hasn't won with a Victor like you, one that might actually do something, and you finally broke the curse. Don't waste your life on bottles full of rancid liquid that let's you escape for a few hours but then you crash down even harder. Omri is worried sick about you. Jesus Christ, start acting like you want to live the life you were fucking given," Aspen hissed loudly and dragged Ayra into a spare room. They were at some kind of Victor's Party, Ayra thought. Well, that was what she vaguely remembered her escort saying.

"Do you not realise that in two days, new boys and girls will be reaped and that means you'll be responsible to get them home. You're the newest Victor to mentor, the spotlight's on you and if you fuck it up, it'll take a lot more then _whiskey_ to mend your injuries."

"Ayra, we were put through the Games and we know how bad it is. You don't get sympathy from us just because for the last years you've been trying to get over your experience. We all had them so just suck it up and try and save a fucking kid like the rest of us." Aspen harshly spat the words out, straightened his suit and walked out to find his wife. Ayra could do so much with her life, but Aspen knew that not everyone could handle the responsibility that comes with being a Victor.

It didn't matter to the Victor in question, she just went back to the bar.

_And ordered a double_.

* * *

><p>The Hunger Games were celebrated as an event that seemed to be the optimum of what a simple district dweller could achieve. It was brainwashed into the Capitolites that the Games were a happy time for each and every member of the country. They were what brought justice, fairness and peace to the Games, as the districts had to pay for what they had done. It was unjust to let them walk free.<p>

But like underneath skin dripped blood, underneath the Games polished exterior was a dark and unhappy competition for anyone that wasn't lucky to live in the Capitol.

No Capitol knew of the torture of living in a district. They didn't know what it was like to be raised as a slave, raised to believe that you were born to serve a Capitol and that was it. That was what your life was going to be.

_This year, blood would be shed._

_And maybe the truth would be revealed_.

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><p><strong>Hey guys! So there was the first chapter to my new story, Blood: The 61st Hunger Games. I hope you all enjoyed the prologue and if you want to submit (which I all hope you do) <span> the form can be found on my profile<span>. ****I'd love to get tributes that are different and just an complete original from you so whatever you send, I'll read and consider.**

**I have a few chapters left to wrap up Bravery, one which will be up soon, so don't worry, you have plenty of time to submit. Also, don't expect constant updates everyday because I'm a student and let's just say that my time is limited.**

**Oh, I just wanted to let you know that my last SYOT, Bravery: The 57th Hunger Games, is not linked in with this universe. This universe has different Victors and a new President so you'll be very confused if you read my first SYOT!**

**À bientôt,**

**~ kindnessandbravery**


	2. Numbness

_A fountain's pulsing sobs-like this my blood _

_Measures its flowing, so it sometimes seems. _

_I hear a gentle murmur as it streams; _

_Where the wound lies I've never understood._

_Like water meadows, boulevards are flooded._

_ Cobblestones, crisscrossed by scarlet rills,_

_ Are islands; creatures come and drink their fill. _

_Nothing in nature now remains unblooded._

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><p><strong>The Opening Dinner<strong>

* * *

><p>She walked through the door and all eyes turned to her. <em>(she loved the attention, she craved it)<em>

Her dress left nothing to the imagination. _(she wanted it like that; her body was her pride and joy)_

She walked with confidence, commanding everyone to become aware of her presence. _(confidence was killer, that's what her mother had always told her)_

She didn't make a speech, but she didn't need too. (_she knew that sometimes, silence told a thousand words)_

Everyone knew her name, everyone knew of her. _(she acted like it was normal, but inside, her narcissistic side was dying with happiness)_

She was the Victor, the newest, the prettiest one_ (no one ever said she was a worthy Victor, she never stopped to think why)_

The Opening Dinner was on and it was centred around her. Iliana Platnium was the outsider, she did not have bonds with Victors that went back decades or she didn't know what to tell a person before they entered the arena, but it didn't matter.

Iliana Platnium was the Capitol's sweetheart, that's why she won. The Games were said to be a fair competition, but everyone knew that favourites were always given an advantage and no matter how small, an advantage is an advantage. There would have been outrage in the 'heart of Panem' if she had not won, that would have been simply unacceptable.

The Careers let the girl sit at their table, she after all one of them without a single doubt, Iliana had killed seven tributes without a glimpse of her humane side showing showing.

_ (many didn't know if she had one, she was beginning to wonder with the rest of them)_

* * *

><p>They had tonight to enjoy themselves and that was it.<p>

Tomorrow was the travel day to get back to their respective districts and then, then the reapings would rear their ugly head and they would be forced to go back into the serious, saddened mentors that all were.

It took a certain mindset to become a good mentor. Some aren't ever ready for the challenge, they go crazy, they never sleep without seeing their tributes die again and again in front of them. You had to be strong.

You had to be able to pick out the strengths that your tribute had, the ones that would win them a Hunger Games. _(and the weaknesses, that would get them sent home in a wooden box to a distraught family)_

You had to build bonds with the unlucky individual._ (and be ready for them to be ripped apart)_

You had to remain hopeful even when there seemed to be no way to win. (_but then again, there was only so many times a heartstring could be pulled before it snaps) _

You had to find a release for all the grief_ (alcohol, morphling or razors were the most popular choices)_

No mentor ever forgot what it was like to lose their first tribute to the Games. Because every first-time mentor made the stupid mistake of getting closely attached to the tribute and when that individual died, they did too. But after that, every loss is a little bit lighter until a death is just something that you see everyday and that blood is something that doesn't freak you out anymore.

After the first death, you grow up. No childish ideas come into your head, even though you aren't done growing yet. Colours fade into dulls, like grey and black. You heart shrivels up into a small thing that has too many scars and too many wounds to fully heal again.

You grow numb and every mentor knows, to be numb is not to feel.

_And that's the best thing to feel: nothing._

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><p><strong>Heyyy guys! So here's the second prologue, since I haven't yet gathered enough tributes to start into the reapings. It is very much a filler, so the length will not be like this for the other chapters. <span>This list is not final<span>, so submit to wherever you heart desires. This is not first come first served, so anyone has a chance of getting their tribute selected.**

**Thanks to everyone who's helped me so far (even though we are only two chapters in but anyway, ignore that), especially my French speaking friend ;)**

* * *

><p><strong>Tribute List<strong>

**District 1 Male:** Jackal LeCroix _(TitanMaddix)_**  
><strong>

** District 1 Female: **Dominika 'Domi' Vaskas _(AgentZyianna)_

**District 2 Male:** Kyro Linard _(LokiThisIsMadness)_

**District 2 Female: **Ephai Renauld_ (addicted-to-my-reflection)_

**District 3 Male: **Paxon Ose_ (Frank.2.0)_

**District 3 Female: **Farissa Luxwell_ (Namelessghoul)_

**District 4 Male: **Santiago Callagri _(FoalyWinsForever)_

**District 4 Female: **Kaja Unjuss _(Epicness by Liv)_

**District 5 Male: **Kaleni Emryn _(addicted-to-my-reflection)_

**District 5 Female:** Althea Everill _(bobothebear)_

**District 6 Male: **Xavier Blake _(SpaceAgeDino)_

**District 6 Female: **Kheta Aranrhod_ (MajaRose)_

**District 7 Male: **Demetri Stafford _(bobothebear)_**  
><strong>

**District 7 Female: **Rowan Amur_ (MajaRose)__  
><em>

**District 8 Male: **Chayse Ammodia _(Epicness By Liv)_

**District 8 Female: **Rosalina Gravin _(upsettomcat)_

**District 9 Male:** Ellis Lucan_ (LokiThisIsMadness)_

**District 9 Female: **Kenya Debassi_ (nevergone4ever)_

**District 10 Male: **Hunter Attican _(nevergone4ever)_

**District 10 Female: **Gwendolyn Kormac _(Sizzyforever8)_

**District 11 Male: **Emmer Gardner_ (Xymena Falling)_

**District 11 Female: **Sade Braxton_ (hollowman96)_

**District 12 Male: **Joel Reidon _(FoalyWinsForever)_

**District 12 Female: **Cerian Avelle_ (The Knife Throwing Expert)_


	3. Haunt

**Mayor Cordin Lanni,**

**District Three**

* * *

><p><em>Hello, welcome to this gorgeous day to celebrate this wonderfu-<em>

Scratch that.

Mayor Cordin Lanni sighed as he looked at the meagre attempt he had made at the speech he had to make it just over an hour at the annual reaping. He couldn't use words like 'gorgeous', because that would mean this affair was a happy and joyful one.

It was as far away from joyful as it could get, according to his calculations.

No specimen in District Three had any love for the Games. Everyone agreed that it was unhumane and illogical and many thought that citizens of Three were a cold kind of calculated but then again, no one saw the tears and overall sadness that every member felt for the death of a native in the Games. They were all used to losing two tribute every year, because Three was not a victorious district. _They were a bloodbath district, forever and always_.

Being Mayor of such a district was a split job. At one side, he tried to make the district that he would die for as good as he could, and it had paid off, _on occasions_. Cordin could honestly say that his favourite image, asides from anything to do with his family, was to see the district people with smiles on their faces. It made him light up when he saw anyone smile in Three, it was rare enough with the hardships that the Capitol had put upon them and because District Three tended to be full of calculated, rational people.

_Reapings tended to be full off tears rather then smiles. Cordin tried to fix this but why bother, really? Smiles wouldn't bring back Victors._

At the other side, it was terrible. He had to put up with representing a district that was worthless in the eyes of the other districts because they didn't produce bloodthirsty, cruel tributes. Three's tributes tended to be young, weak, have no survival knowledge and had spent most of their on the plant inside, looking at technology.

_You can't really make a Victor of that, can you? _It worked every once in a while and that was a shock to everyone when a human came home, mostly it was just two wooden boxes. But at least all the tributes died quickly.

_They never got far enough to get their hopes to return to Three_.

So actually, there was no plus to the job.

Cordin wanted to make his district smile, which was a near impossible task, so he took out a new piece of paper and started again. He would do whatever it takes to make the district any better then it's current state, which was a state of miserable existence. Three was what he had invested his life into, maybe it would pay off.

_Hello, my loved citizens of Three, to a hard day for you but I know we'll get through-_

No, that was too much heart. If Cordin had learned anything in his thirteen years in office, he had learned that to be popular in Panem, you had to be ruthless. You had to be a cold, strong figure. You couldn't show feelings for anything you truly loved like Cordin loved Three, for that would be social suicide. He could never commit such an act.

This is what happened every year. He went to write a personal speech that involved the unlucky souls up for this terrible competition. He tried to make it motivational, so that maybe a Victor would finally come home (They hadn't had a Victor in over a decade, people were starting to point their fingers at him, as if he could make one of their scrawny, inexperienced tributes win. That would take more then a miracle, even if he didn't want to admit it.)

No, this year, he'll play it safe. He'll use the Capitol-provided one.

_Like every other year_. Anyway, the tributes needed more then his belief. They needed strength, combat knowledge and basic survival skils. To be honest, and Cordin prided himself on being honest to the point of bluntness, the list of what they needed went on and on.

So instead, Cordin Lanni took out two sheets and started writing eulogies._ He had to be practical, right? _

Because this was District Three. _The District of Losers_.

* * *

><p>Cordin sighed as he looked out at the stern, ominous crowd that was filling into the Square. It disheartened him when he saw the faces of the young, because they didn't look like normal adolescents. They all had the faces of martyrs and truth be told, they were. They all died for a cause, or in this case a district, whether they liked it not.<p>

And the amber liquid in front of him was obviously a bad decision, but so was accepting this job. He hated this job. It took a little bit of the guilt away, the guilt of living longer then more then half of Three. It made the world hazy, the best way it could be.

Maybe if he drank enough brandy, he would forget about it.

He'd forget about all the little children he's sent off to be shipped back two of three weeks later, taken of life and in a simple wooden box. He knew all of their faces.

_But the sad truth was, he'd never forget. Memories haunt, until they become the nightmares._

* * *

><p><strong>Heyy guys! So this is final piece of the prologue, I swear (That's also why it's short and sweet) Anyway, the blog has been put up on my profile and I'd love if you went onto it and looked at all the tributes that will be featuring in this story! Next chapter will be Reapings! This chapter is all thanks to nevergone4ever, so if you're complimenting it (whichi hope you are), it's to her you should be thanking.<strong>

**And to my darling (you know who you are), feel better love.**

**~kindnessandbravery**

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><p><strong>Questions: <strong>

**-What did you think of the blog? **

**-What's your impression of each tribute from the blog?**

**-Comments on my general writing from the first three chapter?**


	4. Doomed

**Radiance Capal, District 1**

**Victor of the 53rd Hunger Games**

* * *

><p>"Come on Radi, she's not that bad. I talked to her and she kept up the conversation. I was told to give you a chance, and you ending up winning, even if I hadn't complete faith in you," Valour joked as Radiance hit him with her tiny fists. Not that that meant he wasn't scared of the petite, 5'2 girl, she scared him more then any douchebag from Two.<p>

The thing about Radiance was, her demeanour seemed to scream gentleness and every step she ever took in her life had been with grace. District One and the Capitol had fallen in love with her because she was lethal yes, but she wasn't cruel or self-confident. Her family wasn't rich or had any connections to power.

But there were certain things and people that brought out a different side to her. They made her reserved, harsh and cruel, much like the way she was in her Games. It had paid off, she had six kills and respect under her belt. It happened rarely but some people didn't mix well with Radiance and she would just snap.

_Iliana_.

As she walked out onto the mentor's stage, Radiance felt the animalistic instincts inside her stir. Not many people could do that to her, but Iliana was a special type of disgusting. Living in District One, the trait of being vain was common, Radiance wouldn't lie, but never had she met someone so vile and self-conceited. If Iliana had been her ally, she would have stabbed her through the throat as soon as she could, just to _shut the bitch up_.

Radiance practically growled as she saw the girl take her seat to the applause of the crowd. She had mentored Iliana, she had brought the dumb girl home, and not even a thanks or a mention in the many speeches she made. The girl wasn't coming home until Radiance had pulled strings and gotten her the supplies she needed.

And for what? She had lost the job of mentoring, even though she had arguably one hundred million more brain cells then the new mentor and that she had experience in mentoring. But no, Radiance was nothing when placed beside the fucking golden girl. It was what the outer districts felt when compared to the Careers.

Radiance shook her head and concentrated on the Reaping that was happening before her eyes. The mayor was done his speech and now Alio was picking out the names of the tributes that Radiance _wouldn't get to mentor_.

"Our female tribute this year will be Daviana F-"

"I volunteer!" A girl shouted from the eighteen year old section and walked out. The girl had dark brown hair that fell to her waist. She looked like a fucking competitor and her grey eyes shimmered, excited with the thought of representing her district. Iliana squealed happily, as her first ever tribute looked like she could fucking win it.

_Bitch_.

The girl's name turned out to be Dominika Vaskas and that's when it clicked. She was Juliana Vaskas' kid, a legend. She had killed one tribute with a shard of bamboo at the tender age of fifteen and was Radiance's role model. Of course she would be reaped the year Radiance wasn't mentoring.

When Radiance looked back, a boy was emerging from the fifteen year olds, lime green eyes darting around at the onlookers. The name was announced of the volunteer male, Jackal LeCroix. Her heart panged when she heard his second name. Jackal's two siblings, Mace and Reya, were close friends of hers and when they volunteered in consecutive years and died inches from the Crown, her heart had broke. Reya had come second. If Jackal didn't come home, his parents were going to become childless.

He was young to volunteer and Valour was beside Radiance, inspecting the boy from all angles. He had been mentoring for years and had brought Radiance home, he was the master of mentoring in One.

The tributes were healthy and looked inquisitive. They had Valour, who would be the only person they could trust. Because without him, all they had was Iliana.

And Iliana was one heartless, brain dead piece of shit.

* * *

><p><strong>Midas Styx, District 2<strong>

**Victor of the 54th Hunger Games**

* * *

><p>"Welcome to the District Two Reaping for the 61st Hunger Games! I hope you have all had a great year since I last saw you!" Quila screamed at the crowd, her luminous yellow pupils staring around, trying to take in as much of the subtly confident district as she could.<p>

"Really? Come on Midas, wake up," Valda smiled as she shook her companion. Midas had been listening to Quila, but it took a special kind of concentration to actually listen to the young girl.

He wasn't the typical District Two Victor. Midas would rather stay inside with his friends then mentor the students in the Academy like the other Victors. He trained because his father wanted him to and he wasn't a man that you said no to. Midas was quiet and reserved, the District Five of the Careers. But he had an undeniable charm about him, all natural.

"Sorry, she's like a lullaby. And I didn't sleep well," Midas replied, muttering the last part but Valda heard. She knew that the man hadn't sleep soundly since he was reaped all those years ago.

It wasn't his fault, the Gamemakers were horrible people who had made his arena into an abandoned hotel, accompanied with creeping stairs and spiders that did more then bite you. Midas' Games lasted eleven days, a short one compared to many, but the boy didn't sleep for more than four hours. You couldn't, the stairs were always creeping and there was a haunting ghost that relived her beheading every single night.

Her eyes were the thing that stuck with him. Those glassy, stormy blue, pain-filled eyes that seeked freedom from her scheduled doom every night. And when you saw them up close and you saw-

"You won the Games, Midas. She was a creation of the Gamemakers." Valda said quietly to the man that had become entranced, an event that was now a common occurrence. But Valda was always there, to take him back from the arms of his demons.

"Sorry, I didn't mean to. It's just-"

"I know, it's okay," Valda stooped him from apologising, she didn't need to hear him explain his fears to him, she knew them as well as he did. All the man needed was someone to reassure him every day and she would gladly do the job.

Midas turned his attention to the crowd as Quila picked the two names out. He knew that it was worth nothing to wait for the names to be called, the owners would never be thrown into the Games. This was Two, they didn't do anything without giving up their best competitors. Two wouldn't call it sacrificing, even if it partly was. They didn't sacrifice, they offered Victors up. That's the lie Midas was taught in the Academy, one of many.

He heard cheers and looked down at the crowd to see a girl walk up the centre aisle. She had beautiful red hair and her pale face was covered in freckles. Midas didn't look like the natives of Two, neither did she. Maybe this would work, better then him and the male tribute anyway. At least they had something to talk about.

So he liked over at his mentoring partner, Malissa. She was nice and the two were friends, but she wasn't Valda. _'She's mine'_ was all he said and Malissa agreed nonchalantly, obviously waiting from something to happen.

The boy was then reaped but as soon as 'Henrik Stala' had been called out, another boy had stepped confidently up to take young Henrik's place. He was typical District Two material, handsomly sculpted with an aura of self-belief. Dark blue eyes focused in on the mentors as he reached the stage, but skimmed along until he found the subject of his search: Malissa. Midas didn't want to start gossip, he wasn't someone who liked to talk about others, but he could tell that there was something more then a mentor-tribute relationship between them. Anyone could.

His name was announced as Kyro Linard and after parting glances with Malissa, he turned to the crowd and grabbed Ephai's hand. They raised them up, united as one District.

Ephai turned back and stared at Midas, she knew he was her mentor. She winked and smiled softly, before being lead into the Justice Building.

Midas had to smile back.

* * *

><p><strong>Satis Nolds, District 3<strong>

**Victor of the 35th Hunger Games**

* * *

><p><em>Grey<em>.

It was everywhere, Satis noticed as he looked around his district. It overwhelmed the scenery, the colour coating the many technological factories that surrounded the Square, as well as the Square itself. All of the parents that worryingly lined up at the sides, praying to any god out there that their child would be spared, and the unlucky children, whose faces seemed to have aged with worry lines set deep into their forehead and purple bags under their eyes, seemed to blend in, their dull faces and battered clothing made the whole place reek of more despair then it ever had before.

_What a lovely day reaping was._

"I'll take the female tribute, you take the male. We'll go over them once we get on the train and it'll be by ourselves." Techa Devlan said, her voice shaking like usual. The Games had shattered every bit of confidence she had, and her daughter Alis had been born only a few months ago, Satis could detect the signs of Techa that she was missing her baby.

Satis could see his son and daughter, mingling with the other fourteen year olds but the two always checked on each other from opposite sides of the Square. He only had his twins, Daya and Lumen, they were his everything, but so was his partner Huxley. No man had ever come close to being as exceptional as Hux, he had gone through the Games with Satis and managed to bring back the old Satis.

But today wasn't a day to reminisce about his life, he was here to mentor and he would do that until he managed to bring back a suitable replacement to take over for him. As Pelea finished her traditional speech that was reused every three hundred and sixty-five days, she waddled over to each bowl, plucking two names out with obese hands.

The entire population of humble District Three held its cumulate breath as the female name was unravelled. Satis felt himself stop breathing and images of his Daya flashed through his mind. Her first steps, the first word she ever said, her first encounter with a simple L.E.D, the day she got her first boyfriend. She couldn't leave him, she was too young.

But then again, so was anyone eligible for reaping. Satis hated the Games, the way they changed you into someone so unlike what you were before you encountered the brutal horror of Games. It aggravated him that his brain had no trouble understating quantum physics but it drew a blank when it came to a reason for the Games.

"Farissa Luxwell!"

Satis blew out a sigh of relief as he failed to hear his daughter's name. The girl, who Techa had called for, came from the twelve year olds. And there would be no volunteers, because this was Three and people were too educated to throw away their life that would be dedicated to the pursuit of knowledge for 'eternal glory'.

But unlike most young tributes of Three, Farissa didn't cry. She skipped up to the stage, her blonde hair bouncing and her eyes widening at the prospect of a competition. Satis couldn't tell if it was the shock that drove her to act like that or just complete madness.

"Paxon Ose!"

Another sigh of relief came from Satis as Lumen was safe. Huxley caught his eye and winked with those big green eyes of his, smiling softly. But like a good mentor should, Satis focused on Paxon. He had striking red hair and freckles covered most of the skin Satis could see but the boy had a good build and he was tall, over six feet. He looked to be in the process of panicking, breathing like the air had been taken from him. Paxon screamed at someone-Satis couldn't see all the way down to the sixteen year old section- but regained his composure and reached the stage in a matter of strides.

Techa looked across at the man with eyes full of tears. Every year, seeing kids ripped away from the families like she was and not getting a chance to return made the strong Devlan woman into a blubbering mess. But this year, there was a determined sparkle to her usually dull eyes.

"Let's bring one of them home."

* * *

><p><strong>Ula Salton, District 4<strong>

**Victor of the 55th Hunger Games**

* * *

><p>The distant sound of the waves crashing off the rocks calmed Ula as she listened to Cauvier describe her Games in so much detail that it was like he had lived through the Games himself, instead of her. It was flattering that people looked up to her and she knew that winning a Hunger Games was an impressive act for anyone to complete but she hated talking about it.<p>

It was like reliving the one nightmare that scared you the most, the panic that rises in your chest and the way you heart starts pumping so fast you begin to question how much faster it can go before it explodes. No one likes that feeling, no one likes having to constantly look over their shoulder because someone could be there, ready to end your life.

She was pulled out of her daydream, if you could call it that, by a gentle pressure on her hand. Orca smiled gently at her as he shifted on one of the two seats they were currently sitting on. They were seated at the Justice Square, waiting to see their new tributes.

Ula didn't need to hear her Games being described. She had daily reminders that were the cue for her to be haunted by flashbacks. The Games had taken her childhood, her innocence and her leg away from her. Sure, the Capitol had given her a prosthetic leg, but nothing got rid of the memory of having to cauterise her leg with a fire. The smell never really left her, she could always smell it.

"Is there a Kaja Unjuss in attendance? Kaja?"

Ula perked up, she wanted to get a good glimpse of her tribute. Last year, Clarisia had volunteered and the two had bonded instantly. She was highly trained and had a charismatic aura about her so when Clarisia had died in the bloodbath, it hadn't been easy to digest. But maybe this year, they might get somewhere better then 22nd.

_Maybe_.

Kaja emerged confidently from the eighteen year olds, a positive for Ula. No one wanted the young tributes, no matter how much they denied it. You have to work with immaturity, weakness and if Ula was being truthful, a death. The girl had a playful smirk on her face, her eyes glittering with energy. Ula was happy with Kaja, she could have done a lot worse.

"Let's see who's the boy who will be joining beautiful Kaja, shall we?" Cauvier said in his raspy voice, his beady little eyes focusing in on Kaja's...assets. He wasn't someone who appealed in anyway to Ula, she thought he should be placed on some kind of list for sex-offenders because Ula had heard stories of what the man had done in the Capitol, and it sickened her that he was allowed near girls like Kaja.

Ula watched as the boy that had volunteered for a name beginning with 'Ba' walk up casually, but with confidence that made you stare. The pair of them were typical District Four tributes, tanned skin and both looked to be trained. The boy, reached Kaja and pressed his lips to her cheek. Ula didn't know if it was all an act, or the boy was just a gentlemen, something of a rarity nowadays.

"What's your name boy?" Cauvier asked, looking the boy up and down with the same interrogating eye like he'd used on Kaja. Ula felt the bile reach her throat, because Cauvier had looked at her the exact same way, all those years ago.

"I'm Santiago Callagri." Santiago said in a husky tone that the girls would faint over and Ula sighed. Kaja wouldn't be the Four favourite this year, not with a Callagri up against her. His brother Reicko, had made the Capitol fall so deeply in love with him they didn't even care that he'd tortured one of his female allies and used the most disturbing technique. And his mother, Carlin, one of the most respected ladies in the district. She had brought Ula home, she owed the woman everything.

That was the thing about District Four tributes; everyone in the district was so individual and they had a diverse district. People were every race and age, trained or not, heterosexual or not. The district didn't really place any limitations on what a person could or could not be. Ula loved it.

Four was diverse.

Four was creative.

Four was united.

_Four would be Victors_.

* * *

><p><strong>Spark Heller, District 5<strong>

**Victor of the 46th Hunger Games**

* * *

><p>The Reaping changed a district.<p>

Spark knew it was good, in a way, but like everything in the fucking nation, it brought bad along. The place became eerily quiet, the silence was surreal. You could hear the blood in your heart transfer from atrium to ventricle, over and over again. You could hear the the nerves run along through your veins. It was unnerving, it made you question everything you thought about yourself.

"Spark, are you listening?!" Reeva cried, her weak voice shaking with as much anger as the girl could muster. Spark just rolled his eyes. She took the job of mentoring way too seriously, Reeva got attached to the tributes and treated them like they were her lifeline, attending their funerals as if they actually meant something to her.

But even with all her devotion for those weeks she got to know the young tribute - _they died_, usually first or second in the Bloodbath. Reeva hadn't learned that the task of mentoring was illogical. They were all going to die anyway, all she was doing was giving them extra years of misery on this planet.

Because once you were reaped, there was no going back to fucking rainbows and daisies. The Games took everything out of you, you heart, determination. You die in whatever hellish arena the Gamemakers decide to give you; even if you manage to win, you're just simply surviving.

_Not living_.

Reeva won by the scrap of her teeth. She was the one tribute Spark tried with, and look where that got him; she ended up as his annoying little sidekick.

"Sorry, my deepest apologies. What were you saying?" Spark whispered shortly at the only other Victor as Etoilia started to finish off her welcoming speech to a crowd that looked like robots, motionless and dead. Five was full of serious people, no one knew them for their charismatic demeanour. No one here had anything to look forward to, except a lifetime of working with power.

"I'll take the girl this year and you'll take the boy," Reeva announced, like that wasn't the way they did it every year and that it didn't end up with Reeva mentoring both. Spark was in it for the parties._ Sometimes the tribute_. He just nodded in response as Etoilia opened the damned slips of paper.

Those two people wouldn't be coming home, not if it was based on Spark and Reeva as mentors. They were fucking failures at mentoring, Spark didn't even try to deny it. Too many kids had died under his mentorship to start caring now.

He had won the Games by himself, Five's first Victor. If he could do it on his own, so could the tributes following him. You learned much more on your own, by experience, not by older souls that had been subjected to the same torture as you would be subjected to. It was alright until you got to the arena, and suddenly, there was no one that you ask questions too. You're deserted in that hellhole, unless you've allies but eventually they die, most likely right before you.

_Sometimes being strong was being on your own_, and Spark was okay with that. He'd rather be alone.

"Althea Everill, the female representative for District Five!"

The girl, a fifteen year old, tried the 'I'll be brave and smile" method but it didn't really work. Spark had to smirk as the girl deteriorated until she turned into a crying mess at the stairs. Nothing looks more pathetic then a crying tribute, everyone knew that, _Althea knew that_.

Oh well.

"Please...please don't m-make me compete...I'm going to d..die," Althea sobbed as she stood onstage, shivering with fear. Reeva looked crestfallen and heartbroken at the same time, Spark felt his heart twinge the littlest of bits as he looking at the girl.

"And joining Althea, Kaleni Emryn! Everyone, please give a round of applause for Kaleni!"

The silence in response to Etoilia's command was typical District Five. Spark even felt a little pride for his reserved but rebellious district. Kaleni walked from the seventeen year old section, smiling. The boy was laughing quietly to himself as he mounted the stairs, looking at Althea as if she was a piece of meat. He was so emotionally unbalanced that the place turned uneasy; anyone could his mental problems.

Who laughs with excitement _at a Reaping?_

Great, Spark got the insane one. He always ended up with the worst ones: Kaleni, Reeva. But this year, Spark didn't know which one was worse- bloodbath or psychopath.

_Neither sounded like a Victor. _

* * *

><p><strong>Lila Dohi, District 6<strong>

**Victor of the 45th Hunger Games**

* * *

><p>"I can't do this anymore. 20 years of mentoring, and I've brought home one. One tribute, pathetic." Arun Wetry exclaimed, looking his age with the lines and wrinkles scattered across his face.<p>

Lila knew he wasn't lying. Arun hadn't been the most determined of guys, it was a complete surprise to see him win the Games all those years back. He'd brought back Lila in his third year of mentoring, it had been the two of them since. No one had even come close to returning to Six bar the exceptionals that always ended up dying in front of the finish line. One tribute, in the final four, had_ poisoned herself_.

"Arun, we don't talk like this, we never talk like this. We've been mentoring together for sixteen years, it's bound to pay off on of these days. And you promised when that crown was placed on my head that you'd stick with me." Lila smiled at her comrade, even if she wanted to frown because what he was saying made her want to watch him sleep tonight, incase he tried to leave her on this planet alone. She said it lightly, not like her usual brute tone.

The two were all each other had. Lila had grown up as an orphan, the bastards of the Capitol had taken Arun's only relative, a son, years ago. He would have been sixteen this year. Lila was the godmother. You learn to take the other person for granted but Arun was more then a friend; he was the person that Lila laughed and cried with, went through the Games with, he was the one she'd always had around.

Arun didn't look any better so Lila huffed. This type of behaviour made her angry. Sure, their lives were shit, but at least they had ones to complain with.

"Listen to me Aru, you need to stop acting like we were given the lives of slaves. We have shit lives but I have you and you have me so we'll be fine. We come out of the battle bruised and battered, but alive. So cheer up and act cheerful so you won't depress your tribute." The woman hissed quietly as the two watched the children listening intently to the new escort, like perfect little Capitol clones.

"Come up dear, come on Kheta!" The new escort exclaimed. Lila hadn't even bothered to learn her name but she was sure it was lovely and _pure_, like the Capitolite's personality.

Lila snapped her head towards the girl that was walking up to her death. She was pretty with tanned skin and raven hair, good enough to get sponsors. Six were never popular at the Parade but if both tributes were okay appearance-wise, maybe they might actually _have a chance at getting some sponsors_.

"Joining Miss Aranrhod, will be Xavier Blake!"

The boy walked quickly up to the stage, from the same section as Kheta, the seventeen year olds. He had sharp cheekbones and his face wasn't bad to look at. The Parade might be beneficial this year.

He made it to the microphone stand in three quick strides and grabbed it off it's stand. He had the audience's undivided attention, every eye was one him. He was so unlike the little wimps that made of 90% of Six tributes.

"Hello ladies and gentlemen, I'm Xav the Magnificent and I'm happy to represent this district." Xavier said as he walked towards Kheta, who stood silently, looking out at the crowd. He grabbed her necklace in the palm of his hand and showed it to the crowd, then closed his palm and opened it again, revealing no necklace.

What the fuck was going on?

"Where did you put my necklace? Bring it back," Kheta snarled as she stared icily into his eyes.

"Sorry love, but a magician never reveals-"

Xavier didn't get to finish his sentence because Kheta had punched him, hard, straight into the face.

Lila just sighed as the boy flopped to the ground.

* * *

><p><strong>Heyy guys! Sorry for the break in updating but this was a long chapter and I had school so... But anyway, it's up and I hope you liked it! The next part will be the following up of this.<strong>

**Tell me what you think (reviews are love) and I'll talk to you next chapter!**

**Bis zum nächsten mal, **

**~kindnessandbravery**

* * *

><p><strong>Comments on each POV?<strong>

**From the reaping, what mentor's and/or tribute's demeanour interested you the most out of all of them?**

**My writing? **


	5. Doomed (Pt 2)

**Tsia Cedara-Tomber, District Seven**

**Victor of the 50th Hunger Games**

* * *

><p><em>She remembered a lot. <em>

Tsia Cedara-Tomber remembered standing in her section, her body shaking from the fear of possibly being picked.

You never think you can survive such an ordeal like being reaped, it's like black blood that spreads quickly to every part of your body; you can't stop it but you can feel it. You can feel the hopelessness overtake every positive feeling and transform it into a wretched monster that wrecks havoc inside your soul and mind.

She never thought that she'd be someone who the district would look up to. Tsia wanted to kill herself in her bedroom at the Capitol when she had been left alone, instead of humiliating herself and Seven in the Games. Life didn't seem worth it after she was reaped; it takes everything from you without even hesitating, like a king to a peasant.

She remembered being paralysed by fear at the Bloodbath. She remembered each and every one of her kills, in extreme detail. She remembered the feeling of being so hungry that a primal instinct had been brought out in her. She remembered leaving her thirteen year old ally to die while she ran away to safety, and eventually victory.

_The memories never went away_.

"Baby, you zoned out again," Aspen whispered huskily into her ear and Tsia smiled.

Because as bad as the memories get, there was sunshine to brighten up her world.

_Aspen_. He might be one man, but he was all she needed. He was always the strong one, fighting her battles while battling his without complaining once. Tsia never believed in fate or God, because Panem would not exist if there was a force to make everyone live happily ever after. But Aspen was her hero, even if he didn't know it.

Victors shared a common bond; whether it was a mutilated gene that brought the worst luck possible, or maybe it was just the result of the same trauma that each and every one of them lived through. No one escaped the Games injured, dead or alive. In Tsia's Games, there came a point where she had thought about never moving again, because it was easier then fighting a losing battle. Most break, never living again after those weeks before Reaping. Instead they simply go through the days, not caring about themselves or anyone else.

"Now, let me just get the two lucky slips that will reveal our two representatives for this year," Sanal said politely as he walked over to the globes. Tsia hadn't paid attention to any speeches before Sanal's, she tended to lose concentration. It wasn't because of boredom as such, it was more because her brain related most things back to the fucking arena and so she was constantly plagued by flashbacks.

"Our female tribute will be Rowan Amur!" Sanal announced, projecting his voice out. He was one of the respectable escorts, Tsia liked him. He never seemed to show any emotion, and maybe that was the cleverest thing to do; you wouldn't have to deal with looks or laughs or pity.

Rowan emerged from the seventeen year olds and Tsia groaned internally when she saw her. Rowan looked like her, except a seventeen year old version instead of an considerably older one. She was walking up quietly, eyes hardened and a demeanour of stillness exuding from her. She looked like something, and something was better than nothing.

"Demtri Stafford! Demetri? Where are you?" Sanal exclaimed as heads began to search for the unlucky boy.

Demetri emerged from the sixteen year olds, laughing bitterly with the same glare Rowan was sporting. He walked in large strides, green eyes cold and slightly unnerving. He walked up the steps and was walking past Sanal when he jumped at the escort, resulting in Sanal emitting a terribly feminine scream.

Rowan looked straight at Demetri, and smirked.

The pair looked out at their district, with hardened eyes and an aura that silenced the crowd. Maybe it didn't seem like anything from the point of the cameras, but Tsia could feel something stirring in the air; something that hadn't been in Seven for years.

_It was hope_.

* * *

><p><strong>Flax Lisle, District Eight<strong>

**Victor of the 36th Hunger Games**

* * *

><p><em>There comes a point in time when the flame of hope extinguishes into nothing.<em>

Many people say that passion is a force that can carry the most unrealistic dream through, but that's a downright lie. Hope and passion are like candles, one icy blow can render them _useless_.

It has happened in Eight. Maybe it's because of the fucking horrible working conditions and hours or maybe it's because Eight are a district that has one of the worst Games records out of all twelve but people have given up in every sense of the word. They were urban and evidentially, they were hopeless at capturing the elusive crown of the Hunger Games.

Flax had given up after Twyla had returned as Victor. He had put all his heart into getting her home, why try again? There was no point, Eight was a district of embarrassment, not of Victors. Twyla and Flax were genetic mutations, they had brains that no other natives had.

"Flax, they're ready for us," Twyla called out, in her whimsical voice that had always soothed him.

Twyla Jute was unlike Flax in every sense. She won the Games by the luck of a leprechaun, there was no way she won out of skill. Twyla didn't lose herself in the Games; she didn't let them change her. She deserved everything the world could give her; maybe that's why Flax had put his heart into getting her home. It hadn't been easy; Flax had sweet-talked his way to hell and back trying but it had paid off. If Flax died tomorrow, at least he had one bright memory that shone past all of the darkness that constantly surrounded him: Twyla.

"Let's go T, we can't keep the Capitol waiting," Flax smiled at his fellow Victor as she walked out the door with her uneven gait. It had been like that since her fifth month of pregnancy, she couldn't walk properly with all of the extra weight she was carrying.

To be clear, the baby wasn't his. No, Flax had had a possibility of love way back before the Games, but now he was an old man; love had been sucked out of his heart after every tribute he had failed to bring back's funeral. Love was a thing of the past for him, never again would he intimately share his life with anyone. Twyla, on the other hand, had fallen for Alec, and Flax couldn't fault the man. He was so happy for her, the baby would finally take away her remaining demons.

_She would be normal again_.

"This year'll be different, it'll be different. We bring one back, Eight will win," Twyla whispered to herself as the Mayor blabbered on. Flax had stopped telling her to stop getting her hopes up years back, he didn't want to wreck her dreams. Twyla found the good in everything, even if it was layers and layers deep.

Flax stared out at the crowd while Alainia was introducing herself to the same crowd that had stared up at her for the last six years. He was always intrigued by the faces. Eight was a relatively diverse district but the look of fear was one that merged every face into the same one. Crude, but true; it was like a metaphor for living life; fear controlled it.

"Our female tribute will be Rosalinda Gravin!" Alainia screamed hysterically into the microphone and the search for Rosalinda began.

Flax found her, as the sea of humans parted; shocked into stillness. Her eyes were alert compared to her frozen body and there was a brief moment of eerie silence before Rosalinda starting screaming, finally realising that she had been reaped. Peacekeepers surrounded the girl and instead of sticking to the reaction of a sterotypical weak Eight, Rosalinda broke out into a fit of kicking, and she hit all the right places.

Eventually, she was detained and dragged up the staircase of hell, the crowd stunned into silence. No one acts brave in Eight, it's not common to stand out in anyway. She could be another genetic mutation, another needle in the haystack of the Eight population.

"Now now, everyone give a big round of applause for Roslind!" Alainia exclaimed, not even bothering to get her name right. No one in Eight had time for Alainia, nobody even listened to her comand; many were still stunned that the reaping this year had gotten interesting for about twenty seconds.

"Chayse Ammodia, please make your way up to the stage," Alainia announced excitedly, looking out expectantly at the boys side.

Flax saw boys falling in a line as the male representative made his way roughly to stage, not caring about the lucky boys who got to stay in Eight one more year. Chayse was the strong eighteen year old Eight needed.

Chayse mounted the stage and stared right at Flax and Twyla, burning hatred prominent in his blue orbs.

Flax looked at his female counterpart with a smile.

_Eight would finally compete_.

* * *

><p><strong>Omri Basic, District Nine<strong>

**Victor of the 43rd Hunger Games**

* * *

><p>Omri could smell the alcohol from outside Ayra's door. The stench filled every sense but Omri just opened the door, trying to get to his target. After months of smelling the same wretched alcohol, he had become immune to its powers.<p>

Ayra Colian had been his biggest success, he had finally brought home someone to partner him until the two of them would bring home a suitable replacement. What he hadn't counted on was Ayra diving straight into the deep end; she was broken, and he had tried to fix her. The Games had damaged her mentally; it was like they had taken the old Ayra who had been full of witty remarks and smiles and returned the new Ayra, who lacked any conviction to do anything and couldn't care less about where she was.

It wasn't like a bruise or a cut. With a physical injury, it would heal in a matter of days or weeks and you'd be left with a small scar that would eventually fade away. Those kind of injuries are ones that you look back on with a fond smile; not remembering the pain that was paired with them.

But with a mental injury, the scar was invisible. Brains are so complex and different, they don't heal as straightforward as any other parts of the body. Some don't recover, it's just a constant battle to remain sane. Ayra had conquered some injuries, but memories plagued her and there was no way Omri could block them out for her. If he could, he would without a second thought. It was so heart-wrenching to see her being ruled by memories of something that she was forced to compete in; a cruel trick was constantly being played on her.

Every Victor struggled when they were taken out of the Games. It was so shocking, living a normal life then for a number of weeks then suddenly being submerged into an arena where nothing had an ounce of normality and finally being brought back to your normal life, expected to forget the last weeks of hell that you had just been through. Brains couldn't handle the abrupt change, but most got over it after a while. Omri had struggled, being the first ever Victor of Nine. He was a hero, but the loneliness that had followed him had made recovery ten times harder. He hadn't got over everything, but he was okay, which was better than Ayra's state.

"Let's go Ayra, we've got the Reaping to get through," Omri called as he entered the bedroom, fully expecting Ayra to be in bed, hungover.

"I am ready." Ayra said as she stepped out of the bathroom. Omri's eyes widened when he saw the girl that had been drunk for the most part of this week in a white, fitted dress. Her hair was styled into a high ponytail and Ayra had makeup on that angled her face. She looked like the old Ayra Colian, the brave girl that had entered the arena with hopes and her smile that brightened up anyone's day.

For the whole of the walk to their Victor seats and the Mayor's speech, Omri couldn't stop staring at Ayra. She looked so different; instead of the frail and weak Ayra she was powerful and put together. Nine looked like actual Victors, not two people who were trying to not fall apart again; because to fall apart again meant the two would break completely.

"Now everyone hush! The District Nine female tribute will be Kenya Debassi! Where is beautiful Kenya?"

The crowd of girls all managed to gasp at the same time, parting to reveal a very pale girl. Her white blonde hair and snow-coloured skin reminded Omri of the Ice Queen in the books he'd read as a child; books that had a happy ending everytime no matter what, so unlike the Panem he lived in. Kenya gritted her teeth and walked up to the stage with a face devoid of any emotion. Most people from Nine cried, so it was a step up from every other year. Omri didn't have much to say on the girl; Kenya hadn't revealed anything to suggest anything to him about her, but Omri's gut told him that she could be a surprise. He loved surprises, they had just enough fear and happiness mixed together to make them enjoyable.

Nino, Nine's hated escort, looked Kenya up and down once and must have decided she wasn't worth her time as she moved onto the boys with a look of complete and utter hopelessness. Nino didn't understand Nine, the humble and hard-working district that never had any spotlight, and that was the one thing an escort needed to do; they needed to understand who the people were in the district and what pain the Games caused. She only cared about herself, her heart had never been opened to district people.

"Joining Kenya will be Ellis Lucan!"

A high-pitched scream of heartbreak erupted from the crowd and Omri felt the sadness loom over the Square. The Reaping tended to choose the people that needed to stay in Nine the most, ripping them from their life.

Ellis appeared in the eighteen year old section but turned to run bravily to the source of the scream. Peacekeepers swiftly carried him to the stage; Ellis thrashed and struggled in their steel grip. Omri hated to see people being dragged up; it took the last remaining bit of dignity tributes had and crushed it.

That was it, the Reaping was over and Omri looked at the pair. One girl with a brilliant poker face partnered by a boy with eyes of heartbreak.

_Welcome to hell_.

* * *

><p><strong>Angus Eve, District Ten<strong>

**Victor of the 52nd Hunger Games**

* * *

><p>He was on his own- <em>again<em>.

Merona had relapsed- _again_. Morphine wasn't common in Ten, but it was her oxygen. She had promised to stop numerous times, to get her act together after numbing her way through years and years of mentoring but nothing could stop an addict; the only thing that became important to them was their chosen drug. So Angus didn't say anything; there was no point trying to get her to stop; he knew deep down that someday she'd die from her addiction, it was inevitable at the rate she was taking it. He was afraid for himself, incase she passed the addiction into him.

_Like mother like son, eh? _

Angus hated his mother. She had been so doped up in his childhood that she had not noticed when his father took him, raised him to be the man he was today. Her biggest challenge was the Games, and after that, Merona Feld stopped trying. Didn't care about the kids she had to mentor, didn't care about her partner and certainly didn't care about her son; in fact, in an interview for the Capitol, she had denied his existence. To not recoupirate feelings from him was one thing, but to deny him the right to be know was something else.

And then because his childhood still had the possibility to get worse, Angus was reaped for the Games. Victor's children are always targets, and he was no exception.

The Games had been bad. They were to torture on the mind as much as the body; Angus couldn't look at his hands for two years. His hands had killed an innocent Eight girl who had begged for her life as well as others that he had killed at the Bloodbath. For two years, Angus' hands were red whenever he looked at them; red with blood that shouldn't have been spilt. He had disgusted himself when he had watched himself in the Games at his Victory interview. Angus looked so unbalanced throughout the Games.

_The first kill of your Games defines you._

That's what the host had said to him after his Games. It was the defining moment when a tribute turned into a monster, when innocent souls were crushed beyond repair. Nalia Crux was Angus' first; she had taken the pack he wanted and Angus had so much adrenaline pumping through his veins that he didn't hesitate putting a knife through Nalia's neck. He didn't even look back at her, Angus just ran away, trying to forget what he had just done.

The feeling after killing someone was so surreal compared to anything; Angus would rather experience true heartbreak continuously then feel it. It took over sense with a horrible aura of despair, despair that dragged a person onto their knees. You feel nothing in the moments directly after, it's just like the feeling of normality you get after breathing or sleeping. But then your mind demands you to remember the life you've ruthlessly taken, and that's when every soul-breaking emotion crashes into you like a steamroller.

_Six_.

Six was the number of lives that had finshed due to Angus. He had the second highest kill number, only beaten by the District Two Female. During the month he was trapped in the Games, Angus had changed from the gentle boy he was to a monster. Not a day goes by that he doesn't feel the utmost shame in what he did.

It's funny how much the Games takes over your life. He had been sitting dutifully in his seat, waiting for the Reaping to start but moments had been taken from him, his brain forcing him back to that fateful month.

"Hunter Attican! Hunter, please make your way to stage." Leto screeched as Angus searched for Hunter. Merona wasn't in attendance, so he would take both until she decided to do her job. He resided in the eighteen year old section, and stood still as every eye turned to him. Angus fully expected him to cry and his friend pushed him, trying to get the boy's brain to process that _he was going into the Games where he would die. _

"Yes!" The boy of everyone's focus screamed in excitement as he ran up to stage, tripping over his own feet as he tried to get to the stage as fast as he could. Angus' heart was racing, the crowd was silent as everyone tried to process Hunter. He didn't look insane, but Angus didn't judge a book by it's cover; he could be insane, he could be anything for all Angus knew.

"Now moving along, the female joining Hunter will be Gwendolyn Kormac!" Leto hurried, trying to take the attention away from the possible psychopath that had been just reaped. It was only then that Angus realised that Leto had done the reaping in the way he wasn't supposed to, it always went girl then boy.

Gwendolyn climbed the stairs to the stage with shaking legs, her gaze fixed on someone in the crowd. When she stood beside Hunter, her piercing blue eyes stared almost challenging at the cameras with a happy smile on her face to match, not letting the Capitol take her happiness away.

Angus just sighed. A possible psychopath and a girl who's confidence was more of hindrance than an asset equaled only one thing.

_Bloodbaths_.

* * *

><p><strong>Ivory Sasana, District Eleven<strong>

**Victor of the 40th Hunger Games **

* * *

><p>Ivory looked out at the mass of people that had gathered for the Reaping. Most were the children that had been picked from the local Reapings with their family, who were waiting to see if their family member would be spared but some were just there to bet on the children.<p>

It was disgusting to see adults voluntarily betting on something so horrific; the children were not animals, they were kids with hopes and smiles and dreams for the future. It took away what little dignity Panem had left the kids; it made them into objects that were worth nothing. Older kids with height were bet on to win; younger, weaker kids were bet on to be reaped.

Eleven's reaping system was a diabolical set-up. It was such a big district that before the actual Reaping, there was many 'local Reapings' where kids were picked to appear in the real thing. It was the worst feeling when you got picked in the local one; you still had another reaping to get through, you still had another chance to be picked to die. Ivory had been picked first for both, there was no chance given to her.

She had always wondered what it would be like to live in the other districts. In the Career districts, you wouldn't have to worry about the Reaping; there was always lethal volunteers ready to submit themselves into the Games. Tessarae wasn't an issue for them; they were rich and loved by the Capitol, no cruelty came their way.

Districts Three, Five, Nine and Twelve were ones overlooked, they were invisible compared to the giants of One, Two, Four and Seven. No one bothered to invade them, that's what Ivory loved. Those districts got to live by themselves in relative peace. Nine was one of the districts with one of the lowest populations; that seemed so much easier than living in Eleven. In Eleven, the district was so large that Ivory had only been to every part of it on the Victory tour; most stayed in their part for the duration of their lives. Five and Three were left alone, the Capitol had no interest in intellect-driven districts.

Districts Seven, Ten and sometimes Eleven were districts that were given respect. They were the fighters of the outer districts, the ones that could win instead of Careers. Ivory liked to be in Eleven because they were considered tough competitors, but never were they on equal ground with Careers. Outer districts were always looked at as strangers, whereas Careers were family to the Capitol.

She wondered if anyone else thought about the dialect in each district. The idea that they all lived in one country and spoke the same language yet some sounded like they were foreigners intrigued her. Her ally back in her Games, from the heart of District Ten, spoke with such a twang that she hadn't understood most of his sentences. One's tributes spoke like the Capitol with a slightly more subdued accent. That's what Ivory loved about the Games; she got to talk to the other mentors, she got to learn about their home. There was something so magical about being immersed in other cultures, it was like living a double life.

Many through living in Eleven meant living in a paradise where work consisted of picking apples in a relaxed atmosphere with the sun beating down. It was partially right, except for the fact that Eleven was ruled with an iron fist. There was no joy left in work; Peacekeepers had crushed that a long time ago. Food was strictly for the Capitol and only the Capitol; Ivory had seen more lives than she could count on her fingers lost over an orange. It was cruel but it was life here in Eleven; she couldn't do anything about it.

"Our female will be Sade Braxton!" Anina called out excitedly. Ivory snapped back to reality as she saw Sade leave the sixteen year olds. The girl was smirking, as the crowd grew uneasy as she confidently walked up onto the stage. The Mayor's daughter had been picked; that was never a good feeling.

Ivory knew the crowd was feeling divided. They were obviously sad because another girl would have to compete in the barbaric competition, but she was privileged. In Eleven, privileged families weren't exactly hated, but they were treated differently. Inequality was a huge issue and the better side of the divide didn't exactly help out the poor. Ivory personally didn't care, but Eleven wouldn't be as sympathetic to the girl as they could be. Sponsorship would go to the boy, no doubt.

"Joining lovely Sade is... Emmer Gardner!" Anina exclaimed as the fifteen year olds parted to let the poor boy out.

Emmer did the classic 'I'm so scared but I'll try and make myself look macho and brave' act and he kept it together until he got up the stairs but that's when the eyes watered and the hope vanished. His brown, nearly black, eyes looked so different to Sade's confident eyes; they were wide and so full of emotions that must have been swirling about in his head.

It didn't matter how strong the two looked, Ivory wasn't betting on anything special.

_She never did anymore_.

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><p><strong>Mavi Burnet, District Twelve<strong>

**Victor of the 34th Hunger Games**

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><p><em>The worst killer was not a knife, a gun, a grenade or even heartbreak.<em>

No, the worst killer was loneliness. It seems so meagre, like something that only the pessimistic complain about. But it drives you insane, the silence that follows it makes everything so more noticeable.

It's been twenty seven years since Mavi won. Twenty seven years of sending kids off to die; not one of her tributes have reached the final 10. She used to blame herself; insomnia took control as her mind forced her to relieve each of their deaths, one by one, until it would show Mavi herself being murdered. It was true, Mavi deserved to die for giving up on all of those harmless kids that had just dreamed of going home but deaths took their toll on inspiration and hope. The Victor was pretty sure she had emptied her supply of both and refilling them was a harder task they she had ever imagined.

It had been twenty seven years of living by herself and mentoring by herself. The people of Twelve respected her in a big way; she was the one that had finally brought honour and extra food to the one district that was never competition in the Games. They admired her, but in no way did they understand her.

Mentoring seemed easy until you were watching the tribute that you had learned to love scream for help and you couldn't give it to them. You couldn't comfort them, and tell them that dying didn't hurt, because they were so close but far away at the same time. It was heart-wrenching to see your friend, not tribute, die without anyone she loved around; cruel was an understatement as death was hard enough to get through without having to do it on your own.

You don't notice how truly alone you are for a few years, but after that, it's impossible to ignore. Mavi didn't even have another mentor to share her woes with; she had no one that understood completely what the arena was like. Physical survival was only a minuscule part of living after victory, the mental side was much harder to get over.

The Victor's Village had been built to house the glorious Victors of Twelve all those years ago when the Games had been established. They wasted so much money that could have been invested in Twelve; Mavi predicted the district might have five or six Victors in the next two hundred years. They could have built five and left it, never will all be occupied.

Mavi sat up abruptly as she noticed a girl was walking up to the orange glowing human known as the Twelve escort. Mavi guessed she looked about seventeen, she wasn't privy to what section the girl came from. She had a shocked look on her face, one of the most popular reactions. Everyone's brain persuades them to rationalise until they come to the conclusion that they will not be picked and so, when said person is picked, they're actually shocked.

"Now joining Cerian Aveline, will be Joel Reidon!" The escort said as Mavi memorised the girl's name. She mightn't be the best mentor, but at least she called them by their correct name. After making that mistake one year, she swore to herself that she would always know her tributes' names.

Joel's reaction was Mavi's personal favourite. Over the years, a trend has started. Anyone who was picked, tried to look so strong people would think they were invincible. They tried to look like a Victor, which in Mavi's opinion, was more of a negative than a positive. The fifteen year old stoically reached Cerian, completing the Reapings for this year. To the people in the crowd, Cerian and Joel were not bad. In fact, this year they had a slight chance.

Twelve was not a district that historically did well in the Games. There was no advantage given to the children and subsequently, the tributes went into the Games weak, terrified and lacking any weapons knowledge. They might have something this year, but that's what Mavi thought every year. And then during the Train Rides the lone Victor always realised what little capalbility her two hopefuls had and gave up.

As the crowds were told to head back to their respective homes, Mavi walked into the Justice Building, followed by the unlucky two tributes and the escort. They were the definition of a dysfunctional group in every way; they all came from different backgrounds but yet they would find a way to work together.

They'd get through this Games.

_Somehow_.

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><p><strong>Heyy guys! I know it's been well over a month but, I was busy and then Christmas came... Anyway, there was the last Reaping Chapter. If you enjoyed the chapter (I hope you did), thank TitanMaddix, he saved it!<strong>

**Next will be the Train Rides. Also, I hope all of you had a happy and safe Christmas.**

**~Until next time (it will be 2015, so I wish all of you a very Happy New Year!)**

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><p><strong>What did you think of these six districts? (Each POV)<strong>

**Favourite Reaping? Why?**

**Favourite mentor out of all twelve districts? Why?**

**What do you think of the tributes now? Who are your favourites? (Chart form)**


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